A Slytherin's Guide To Pears
by The Bard's Daughter
Summary: Hermione is a witch with an itch. One only a certain Potions master can scratch. Unfortunately, the wizard doesn't know how to start. My gift to the Community for the SS/HG giftfest 2015.
1. Chapter 1: Seeking Advice

Severus leaned against the solid wood of the massive four-poster's headboard and glared at the door separating his bedchamber from that of his wife's, cursing the little know-it-all for putting him in this state. For sliding delicate tentacles of Gryffindor sentimentality beneath his well-built shields and ensnaring his very soul. The chit even dared to admit an attraction to him that began years before the announcement of the Ministry's newly minted legislation on marriages. And only last week, a mere three months after their formal binding, she'd brazenly declared her love, then indicated a desire to exercise her marital rights in the bedroom. Bloody hell, she was making plans to move into his rooms permanently in less the a fortnight, returning hers to their former state as the cozy family suite used by so few of the headmasters of Hogwarts.

He ran his hand down his face to push a little more of the tiredness away. The day had been marked with one minor disaster after another. Yet while he'd wanted nothing more than to collapse in a heap on the downy mattress of his bed after the evening meal in the Great Hall, he couldn't bring himself to deny her their new nightly habit of quiet discussion and discourse. And, though he'd never admit it to anyone but her, he wasn't inclined to forsake her company for the benefit of a little extra sleep. He'd become quite accustomed to her sharing his bed for an hour or so before the last bell sounded signaling curfew.

Naturally, this ritual didn't start out in his bedchamber. He was a gentleman if nothing else, and she a witch far too good to have her reputation tarnished by gossip spilling over from the house elves to the staff. No, it started out quite properly in the headmaster's sitting room. Then the interruptions began. If it wasn't Minerva dropping by to discuss some less than critical matter or friendly chatter, it was Lucius or Kingsley on the Floo requesting assistance or advice from one or both of them. It was a bloody nuisance! How was he supposed to conduct a courtship—a courtship, mind you, Minerva, Lucius, and Kingsley had forced the Wizengamot to insert into the binding contracts of a chosen few, like himself and Miss Granger's along with young Mr. Potter and Miss Lovegood's, to allow them time to get to become better acquainted before engaging in the more intimate aspects of marriage—when they allowed the newlyweds very little solitude? He'd never know how he'd managed to fall so deeply in love with his wife amidst the chaos of such company.

Severus thumped his head against the dark Madagascar ebony and sighed, then looked at the stack of books freshly arrived from the Malfoy family library. He loved Hermione Granger-Snape. Deeply. Completely. True love, not the extreme gratitude masquerading as the emotion in the brain of the lonely, mistreated, miserable young man he had been so long ago. And it filled his very core with peace and contentment, binding him up so tightly he would disintegrate should the silken cords of it ever break. She deserved the sweetest seduction someone of his experience, or lack thereof, could muster. That's why this was so important to him. Why he wanted to take it beyond the 'insert A into slot B' knowledge garnered from conversations overheard in the shadowed corners of the Slytherin common room when he was a student. Why he'd sought advice from Lucius Malfoy of all people.

 _With the dessert dishes cleared, they departed the elegant dining room. Hermione gave his hand a gentle squeeze, then left his side to join Narcissa in the conservatory to discuss the upcoming fundraiser for Hogwarts' scholarship program. Watching her go, her bearing as regal as any pureblood princess, his pride built until it spilled out in a soft smile. When she came to the intersection of the corridor leading to the belvedere, she glanced over her shoulder, and he gave her a shy little wink. She beamed back, and warmth infused deep inside his chest. Remembering their companions, he turned on his heals and led Lucius to the manor's large library at the opposite end of the passage. They could imbibe in a little after dinner brandy while their wives plotted and planned the school's financial future. Then, when the fine cognac warmed his compatriot's humor and dulled his wit a fraction, Severus would slyly seek counsel on his dilemma. Opening the large hand carved double doors, his stomach somersaulting dangerously at the prospect of the questions he needed to pose to his old friend._

 _"She has you quite besotted, Severus."_

 _Severus stumbled into the library after the blond wizard, shock turning his feet to cement. "What?"_

 _The other wizard turned, his lips curling into a Slytherin smirk. "Oh, don't worry, old man. She's just as smitten with you, if not more so." He glided across the floor and flopped gracefully onto one of the leather club chairs arranged before the blazing logs on the hearth. "It appears Minerva, Kingsley, and I were correct in our prediction."_

 _Severus gained the other seat, his knees threatening to give way. "You, Minerva, and Kingsley." A thick fog crept into his brain obscuring his speech centers. "Prediction." Dear Merlin, how many times had prognostications complicated his life?_

 _Lucius eyed him with a mixture of certainty and superiority. "Of course. You didn't think we'd leave such things to fate or, Merlin forbid, the Wizengamot did you? They asked for our input on certain matches, and we gave it. Once they offered a few concessions, of course."_

 _His view of the room narrowed slightly, the bookshelves and walls roiling like a navigational buoy in the North Sea. His stomach undulated, and he fought back the rising nausea with closed eyes and deep, slow breaths. While he knew the governing body of wizarding Britain wasn't inclined to view him favorably enough to insure a match with an appropriate witch, to have it confirmed, to learn the only three who knew of his—predicament—had actually made the match between himself and the formidable Hermione Granger instead of fighting for a complete exemption to help him escape the inevitable embarrassment… "Concessions?" he whispered._

 _"The courtship clause."_

 _Lucius' voice permeated the first layer of Severus' stupor. He latched onto it like a survivor clutching flotsam. Surely they didn't realize the consequences of what they had done. Of what they had sentenced Hermione to once…_

 _"To force you to bind with Miss Granger is one thing, but to force you to be intimate with her before you were ready, before you both felt secure in whatever tenderness might blossom between you and content with the situation, would have been an epic catastrophe. Thus, the clause._

 _"The fact it scuttled Molly Weasley's machinations was simply an added bonus." Lucius looked rather too pleased with the situation despite the continued animosity between the families. "Even Arthur's prestige following the war couldn't get their youngest whelp matched with Molly's top choice. And as it was young Mr. Weasley's promiscuity and refusal to acknowledge any of the witchlings claiming to have bore his offspring that force the Ministry's hand, he and the former Miss Parkinson were not offered the option." Lucius chuckled, his voice dripping with delight. "It seems Elphias Doge thought the boy deserved any misery coming from the binding and wouldn't be dissuaded by Arthur's petitions or Molly's threats."_

 _Oh, God. Severus' spirit spiraled towards his toes. Was he being used as a fool's pawn again? To play the foil in the ongoing feud between the Malfoys and the Weasleys?_

 _"According to Ginevra, Molly was apoplectic over the decision. Even going so far as to threaten disavowment should my dear daughter-in-law not persuade me to use my influence with old Elphias and other sitting members of the Wizengamot to overturn the decision." Another chuckle escaped the regal wizard, this one softened by genuine fondness. "Luckily, Ginevra has a pragmatic view of the world. She simply told her beloved mother…"_

 _Relief surged through Severus in such a powerful swell, he nearly allowed the blackness edging his vision to swallow him. He wasn't being played for a fool. Ginevra was one of Hermione's dearest friends, the maid of honor at their wedding. And she had become quite dear to Lucius and Narcissa since her marriage to Draco. Neither one would see her hurt. And if Hermione was swept up in all of this only as a ploy to humiliate the Weasley's their daughter-in-law would most definitely be hurt. Ergo…_

 _With an almost audible snap, Severus' senses reordered themselves. This wasn't about some decades-long disagreement. It wasn't a play for more power by the three matchmakers. It was, quite simply, a true desire to see him happy. To see them happy. And with hope now flooding his soul, he realized his friend had unwittingly offered the perfect opening for his request._

 _Straightening, Severus stood and sauntered toward the drinks cabinet, allowing a bit of quite to invade the room. For seconds, the only sound was the crackling of the fire. The clink of fine crystal as he uncorked the Napoleon brandy. The slosh of liquid as he poured a measure of the amber nectar into the snifters. The familiar Malfoy smugness. And when the perfect moment turned over, Severus' voice penetrated the air like the sharp point of a fencer's epee. "Well, since you obviously know Hermione and I so well." He turned and peered at his friend with as little distain as he could manage. "Perhaps you would be willing to advise me on the correct response to a recent development."_

Severus glanced again at the research material discretely delivered by one of the Malfoy house-elves. Despite some of the more dubious covers, they were his instructors. His counselors. His salvation. And he would peruse them carefully. Consider them thoroughly. Follow their dictates to the letter. Because she was worth every effort.


	2. Chapter 2: Research

Severus tossed his favorite quill with a little more force than he intended. It bounced against the parchment, staining the blank area below his spidery script, then clattered against the antique desk blotter and rolled until it plummeted to the handwoven carpet beneath. Landing barb down, it spent its remaining ink into the cream and emerald fibers, leaving them as sullied as the heroines in the tawdry tomes Lucius deemed appropriate research material. With any luck, Elphick and Croglang, the house-elves assigned to the headmaster's chambers, wouldn't berate him too much for his carelessness. Perhaps a new tea towel each would assuage any irritation they might harbor. They were reasonable beings after all.

Unlike a certain blond-haired pure-blood.

Severus leapt to his feet and tromped to the large window overlooking the private gardens. What had his friend been thinking providing him with such rubbish? He studied the pattern of garden mums and pansies as their beds encircled the gazebo at the very center of the boxwood maze. Following the design with his eyes did little to clear his mind. Surely this wasn't the way Lucius learned the art of seduction.

Images of Malfoy's father, Abraxas, rolled across his mind and a new light dawned. The austere and very proper wizard was the epitome of Victorian morality. Even the most innocent innuendo was greeted with a fierce glare and an intense berating of the speaker. He could imagine the Malfoy patriarch withholding all but the most basic information from his heir.

Severus glanced again at the volumes piled near the corner of his desk and smiled. Many of them were ancient, with tooled leather covers and gilded pages filled with illuminated script. Others were glossy and new, bearing such nom de plumes as Barbara Cartland and Charlotte Lamb beneath titles like _Lovers in Lisbon_ and _Scandalous_. Knowing Lucius voracious mind, and his need to rebel against parental constraints, he would have sought out every source on the subject he could—including those found in the Muggle world.

Turning back to the view from the window, Severus pondered again why this was so important to him. After all, the Ministry merely required the act not the prelude, the postlude, or the intimacy. Beneath him, a mated pair of swans, the female the familiar white of the mute species and the male as black as ebony with a crimson bill, glided across the small pond. They weren't supposed to be. Weren't supposed to mix across species. She was supposed to stick to her kind, and he to his. Yet somehow, whether by divine design or nature's magic, they found one another. Defied the logical selections and chose each other. Just like he and Hermione.

He watched five tiny cygnets swimming in their parents' wake. The Snapes may have been forced together by the Ministry's mandate and their friends' well-meaning interference, but they chose to give their situation a chance. To cultivate at least mutual respect if not something… more.

He smiled softly. It had became something so much more than he ever imagined. At least after the initial stand-off that marked the first week of their marriage.

He leaned against the leaded glass panes, the cool surface soothing his ragged nerves. Like the fiery autumnal colors of the landscape, Hermione's eyes had sparked with ambers and russets and golds when she finally had her fill of his arrogance and stood up to him.

 _"How dare you," she snarled, turning to face him like an enraged lioness. "How dare you continue with this petulance. Whether you like it or not, I am your wife. Not some sniveling student you can abuse with your sneers and jeers, but your wife. Your equal. Your partner."_

 _She closed with distance between them in three strides, her index finger poking him in the chest with enough force he was afraid she would fracture the fragile digit against his pectoral muscle. He fought the wince along with the desire to haul her against him and kiss her until her exalted intelligence was little more than impassioned gibberish inside her skull. "You will speak to me with respect. You will allow me to be your friend and befriend me in return." The anger in her eyes resolved into something soft and wonderful and warm. "And one day, you will fall as deeply in love with me as I have with you."_

The scratch of wood against glass closed the memory. He watched, entranced, as the October breeze batted the oak limbs against the window. He'd be buffeted by her declaration. Yet he'd survived the apology he'd offered her. Thrived afterwards in a way he never thought possible after Lily. Then again, Hermione accepted his petition for forgiveness. In fact, unlike his former obsession, his wife accepted him for who he was. All of him. The good, the bad, and the—

"Severus?"

He turned to find Minerva loitering near the stack of books with his quill dangling from her fingertips. The look of concern mingled with amusement on her features twisted his stomach into tiny knots. Clearing his throat, he strolled back toward his desk, fighting for composure with each step. There was little doubt she'd been in his office long enough to take note of the titles and the list. Perhaps even long enough to read at least a portion of his spidery script. She was, after all, in possession of every ounce of curiosity ascribed to her Animagus form.

She gestured at the amalgamation on his desk, using _his_ quill like a ruddy pointer to illuminate the scantily clad couple on the cover of the topmost volume. "What is all of this?"

Severus drew a breath, then darted his eyes from Minerva to the illicit tome she'd indicated and back again. Like a child caught with the forbidden biscuit clutched in his fingers, he fidgeted just a bit beneath the witch's piercing gaze. A small untruth was surely expected in these cases was it not? In fact, he was very nearly required to offer at least a minor fabrication. Straightening, he averted his gaze slightly, looking at her from beneath his brow. "It is but a bit of—"

"Don't you dare say research, Severus Snape," Minerva laughed. "Not about this drivel." She handed the quill back to him, then leaned closer to the parchment spread on his desk blotter. Heat raced to his cheeks when she glanced at him with a little more seriousness in her eyes. "Unfortunately." She pinched the corner of paper between her thumb and index finger, lifting it as if it were a handkerchief used by a snotty-nosed student. "This might suggest otherwise."

"What I was trying to say before you so rudely interrupted," he growled, jerking the page from her fingers, attempting to cover his mortification with righteous indignation, "was that it was none of your business, Minerva."

The former headmistress-turned-deputy crossed her arms and glared. Threats of bodily harm if he continued his deceit radiated from her strict posture. "If this concerns your attempts to woo your wife, my boy, then it most assuredly does concern me." She arched her brows, her pinched features demanding honest. "And that is what this is about."

Severus deflated, flopped into his chair, and buried his face in his hands. "Bloody hell, Minerva." He tugged on his hair until he was sure a few of the strands detached from his scalp. "How else am I supposed to make a successful attempt at—"

"Loving her?"

He peeked at her through the space between his palms, hoping she couldn't detect the amount of awe flooding his mind at her ability to suss out his true emotions. Even when he wasn't convinced of them himself. "How do you know I wasn't going to say fu—"

"Because," she cut across him, reprimanding with a glower and a raised finger. "It is quite obvious you are absolutely besotted with her." Minerva's smile, when offered with compassion, could warm even the chilliest of concerns. "As she is with you."

"That's what Lucius said," he groaned.

Minerva chuckled. "I always thought him a very perceptive wizard," she declared with a nod.

Severus lifted his head and stared at the woman he'd viewed as a mother since long before his own had been taken from this realm. A slow smile curved his lips. "If memory serves, you always thought him a bleeding wanker." He straightened a little more as confidence reasserted itself. "In fact, weren't you the one who pronounced him the world's biggest—"

A raised palm staunched his speech. "Opinions change, Severus." She quirked her eyebrows at him, daring him to disagree. He acknowledged the point with a slight nod. With a smile, she continued the interrogation. "And do you find yourself finally agreeing with ours? Are you ready to accept that your heart, and hers, is engaged?"

"Minerva," he warned. But one glance at him with _that_ particular gleam in her eyes, he knew resistance was futile. Still, it wasn't the Slytherin way to speak plainly. He waved in the direction of the books. "Would I be exposing myself to such if it were not?"

The older witch nodded and smiled. "Good." Quite quickly though, the upward curve of her mouth melted into a more neutral line. "Of course, you could always forgo all this for the more simple answer."

Severus lifted an eyebrow, his smirk as natural as breathing. "And what do you consider the simple answer?" He perched on the corner of his desk, mischief dancing in his belly with enough effusion to almost elicit a burst of childlike giggles. Almost. "A visit to Knockturn Alley, perhaps? _Pay_ for a little private tutelage from one of Madam Medusa's more upstanding employees?" A study of his fingernails kept up the appearance of detachment while allowing a covert observation of the color change in his colleague's cheeks. Vermillion was such a lovely shade. "I've been told that some of them specialize in—"

" _That_ is not what I mean Severus Snape, and you know it."

She was such an easy mark. Suppressing his smile, he tilted his head enough to meet her gaze. "Then what do you suggest?"

Minerva wasn't buying his innocent act for a moment. She rarely did. Yet instead of storming out of his office with an indignant huff and swirl of her tartan robes, she seemed determined to stand her ground by settling into one of the visitor's chairs. "The truth, Severus."

She leaned across the desk and rested her hand atop his. Her warmth seeped into his skin as her eyes conveyed the kind of compassion he'd come to expect from this formidable witch. In her eyes, he was her son in all but blood. And he was humbled. "Simply the truth. Hermione, and you, deserve nothing less."

Emotions threatened to strangle the breath from his chest. Swallowing, he diverted his gaze. "Unfortunately, in this case, that is not a prudent choice."

"Why?"

Severus jerked away from Minerva's touch and all but vaulted off the desk. She'd voiced the one question that perpetually bombarded him each time he considered his position on the matter. "Because Hermione is so vastly more experienced than I am. If she were to know I am still a virgin…" he shook his head slowly, discomfort undulating in his gut. "I don't need a pity fuck, Minerva."

Lily had made that offer not too long before they ended their friendship. He'd detested her for it. Like curdling milk, it soured him. Made it easier for the filthy word to escape his tongue when she'd attempted to defend him a few days later. He couldn't allow that to happen with his wife. Couldn't allow the sweetness of Hermione's presence to turn bitter and acidic. "I need her to _want_ me. To desire _only_ me. She deserves to be pleasured in the way she has most likely become accustomed to, and I can't—"

Minerva's laughter alternately broke his heart and fired his anger. Spinning on the witch, he glared at her, ready to hex mirth from her body and damn the consequences. Then he saw the softness in the depths of her blue eyes, and he knew. Without the use of Legilimency, he knew. She wasn't laughing at him, but at the absurdity of the situation. Still, his pride stung. "I am glad to be of some amusement for you, madam."

"Oh, my dear boy." Minerva retrieved a handkerchief from the pocket of her robes and dabbed her eyes. "For someone with the cleverness of a Ravenclaw, the bravery of a Gryffindor, and the cunning of Slytherin, you can be as obtuse as a Hufflepuff."

The rigidity of his spine started at the base and shimmied rapidly toward the base of his skull. "I beg your pardon?!"

The Transfiguration mistress met Severus' glare without flinching. Her smile never wavered, though it did soften. "She's as inexperienced as you are."

Severus blinked, doubt waring with something akin to hope in his chest. Another breath, and insecurity entered the fray and tainted battle with anxiety. "There's no way." He faltered slightly, his gaze darting to the pile of books then back to his friend. There was not a flicker of duplicity in the way the old witch stood. "The way she touched…" Disbelief outflanked the hesitant relief rising from somewhere deep inside his core. "The way she slid against…" He shook his head as the memories of Hermione's departure for their chambers just hours before attempted to add confusion to the dizzying thoughts circling behind his eyes. "There just simply isn't any way—"

"She's a Gryffindor Muggle-born, Severus." Minerva's fingers wrapped around his hand, and his tension ebbed slightly. "She hasn't been removed from the non-magical world long enough to be free of its influence. Books, the cinema, the telly," Minerva sighed. "They've changed considerably in recent years." She settled back into the embrace of the leather bergère. "Add in the brashness you are so quick to append to my house, it is a marvel she hasn't stripped you to your pants and demanded you prove your virility by pounding her into the bed frame."

Those words from the usually prim and proper deputy head nearly gave Severus' corpus callosum whiplash. He pinched the bridge of his nose, attempting to quiet the neural storm in his head. Did she really just… "But—"

"Do you remember the spell Lucius, Kingsley and I used to determine the best match for you?"

Still dumbfounded, he could only nod.

"And do you recall what is required for the spell to be successful?"

Bloody hell. He barely knew his own name at the moment let alone the particulars of some arcane bit of binding magic. Still, he wasn't about to let _her_ know how discombobulated he was. Determined to answer, he opened his mouth, but only a confused gurgle managed an exit.

Minerva's smile could have easily been directed at a disoriented toddler. "When cast by a trio devoted to only the best interest of the witch or wizard to be bound," she declared, "the spell will bind the purest and truest souls. The match will be all-consuming and, as long as honesty exists between them, no other forces are needed to aid in the perfect synchronization of their minds, their hearts, their souls, and their bodies. It will be as if they have always been." Her cheeks colored slightly though the twinkle in her blue eyes only intensified. "In other words, my boy, tell each other the truth and you will not _need_ the research." She patted his hand once more. "And the fireworks in the bedroom will put the Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs to shame. Trust me on that," she added with a wink.


	3. Chapter 3:Practical Application

"Have you spoken to Minerva today?"

Hermione looked up from the copy of _Arithmancy Today_ she'd been perusing since they retired for the evening with a rather adorable arch to her eyebrow. The way she studied him for a moment urged Severus' uncertainty into overdrive. He suffered in quiet agony as she perused his features through eyes twinkling with a mixture of amusement and commiseration. Surely she could read the turmoil in his she prolonged his torture, whether on purpose on simply because of her need to leave any written material in the most organized way possible, by taking her time to carefully turning down the corner of the page to mark her place. Finally, she laid the periodical aside and turned her full attention on him. "I have."

Severus nodded. The answer, though limited to two words, offered more guidance than a full thesis on interfering witches. Minerva had cornered his wife, provided her with classified intelligence gathered during the old cat's visit to his office, and disclosed the entire theory behind the enchantment used to uncover one's best choice for life mate. He smiled inwardly as he gently eased from her mind. Legilimency was a bloody brilliant weapon to have in his arsenal. But Merlin help him if his feisty wife ever discovered him mid-mind skim.

Satisfied, he was willing to forgo further conversation to give time to contemplation of his next move, then he noticed Hermione's frown. This had the potential to end poorly if he didn't proceed. Drawing a deep breath to fortify his courage, he asked, "Was it a particularly illuminating exchange?"

He lifted his eyebrow when she giggled at his inquiry. There was a flash of something in her eyes… _Damn, she knows._

"It was." She reached over and carefully entwined her fingers with his, forcing him to abandon the parchment he'd been abusing since they retired for the evening. For once, he didn't pull away. "I find any insight she can offer on the man I love absolutely enlightening." She smiled gently. "Especially when it involves something as powerful as true, unadulterated devotion and fealty. An incontrovertible joining of the heart, mind, body, and soul of two deserving people." She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed each digit as she refused to relinquish the hold she had on his gaze. A feeling suspiciously like hope bubbled in his soul, and he tightened his grip on her hand. She wanted him to see. Wanted to be unreservedly open with him so he would never question her commitment to them. To him. "I'd like to believe the assurances she offered were at least partially founded in fact."

His eyes roamed her features, searching, scrutinizing every inch until the first of his shields cracked almost painfully. This was it. There would be no going back if he didn't end this conversation soon. Yet, for once, his brain seemed to hold no sway over his tongue. "And what assurances was our dear deputy head able to impart?"

Hermione's eyes flashed then darkened to a brown so deep there was no descriptor adequate for it. Her fingers trembled beneath his. Her pulse vibrated her pulse points with such power, the flesh covering them jumped with each beat. She was the perfect study of a tigress hidden inside a bashful maiden. She flicked her tongue beneath her lips to wet them, and he nearly came undone completely. "That you love me as fiercely as I do you."

Then suddenly the shy seductress was gone, replaced by a girl who wore her uncertainty like a woolen cloak around her shoulders. "That there is very little dissimilarity in our…level of experience…unlike what I originally thought." She swallowed hard and looked away from him. She paled despite the rosy glow along her cheeks. "Aside from a rather sloppy, and quite disgusting, kiss from Ronald Weasley during the Final Battle, I have never—"

Resistance was futile. Slowly, carefully, Severus reached for her. Drew her into his arms and placed a firm but soft kiss against her mouth. Gently demanding, he deepened the contact, slipping his tongue through the gap in her lips when she gasped. It glided against her own with a timidity that requested her participation as gently as a whispered plea to her ear. Carefully calling on all the instincts Minerva assured him would exert themselves when the time came, he requested more. And Merlin, did she responded in kind. Soon only simmering passion he never knew could exist bloomed between them.

She tasted of honeyed chocolate and strawberries and the elf-made wine she indulged in with her evening meal. And she smelled of—he breathed in the scent of her skin so tantalizingly close beneath his nose where it rested against her cheek—herbs, new parchment, and vanilla mingled with a lavender musk all her own. She was his Amortentia, and her aroma filled his very soul to the brim with longing and love and peace and contentment. He was drowning in it, but he didn't care. _She_ was all that existed. All that would ever exist.

And she needed to know the truth before either of them passed the point of coherence.

Curbing his desire long enough to ease away from her, he stroked her cheeks with his thumbs until her eyes fluttered open. Deep in the amber depths was nothing but the light of devotion. Beneath the warmth of her gaze, the rest of his shields crumbled. The rest of his reservations fell away like dust from his cloak. "I love you, Hermione."

The declaration was barely more than a whisper, but it carried the strength of steel tempered in the fires of disappointment and regret. It was pure, unadulterated truth torn from the depths of his soul just for her. Only for her. And she smiled in response.

Hermione raised her fingers to his cheek. They quivered against his flesh. Slowly, she traced the smile lines, then moved to his lips. Despite the exquisite feel that urged his eyes closed, he didn't allow his gaze to waver from hers. The sound of her breathing regulated to match his. The jump of her pulse beneath his fingertips as he gently grasped her wrists to still her exploration was in precise rhythm with his. This was perfect synchrony. Absolute harmony. Merlin, but he wanted more.

"Show me," she whispered, pulling him along with her as she stretched out on her side of the bed. "Love me, and let me love you."

And he did. Completely. Passionately. Eternally. He just hoped to Merlin it was enough.


	4. Chapter 4: Consequences

Severus smiled as he prepared Lucius' brandy. Across the room, his blushing bride was in conversation with Kingsley, Narcissa, and Minerva. Images from mere hours before flitted through his mind. Soft alabaster skin glistening with perspiration. The soft hum of contentment that followed the rather vocal explosion accompanying her climax…and his. The way her eyes lit with happiness and completion. Even now, the taste of her skin lingered on his tongue. Her aroma permeated his nostrils perpetually. It had been nearly three months since they consummated their marriage, and he'd never been more content. More loved. And, if his wife was to be believed, neither had she.

He turned his attention to the business of providing his friend with liquid refreshment with a soft sigh. It seemed, through the actions of three very dear, but infuriatingly interfering, friends, the Fates finally deemed him worthy of some happiness in his life. It was a blessing he would never take for granted. Just as he would never take Hermione or the love they shared for granted. It was a precious gift. She was a special gift.

Feeling the weight of her gaze again, he glanced up to find her staring at him, a tiny smile on her lips and a mesmerizing light in her brown eyes. For a moment, his smile deepened. Without thought of who might bear witness to his vulnerabilities, he winked, delighted by the way she lost her train of thought for a fraction of a second. The blush spreading up her neck and along her cheeks sent his heart into a canter. If only he could convince their guests to call it a—

"Seems you wife isn't quite as…twitchy as she was the last time we gathered." Lucius took the glass from Severus' hand. The salacious twinkle in his friend's grey eyes straightened his spine far more quickly than Albus' manipulations. "Could it be you have finally scratched her itch?"

Severus ached to draw his wand, but dueling in such close quarters could endanger innocent bystanders, and would most likely draw his beloved's ire. Better to win this war with wit and words than spells and hexes. "Perhaps," he purred, using his most civil drawl. He glanced at his companion, then lifted his own glass. "Then again, perhaps not. After all, unlike most Malfoys, a Snape never discusses the intimacies of the bedroom with all and sundry." He drained the amber liquid with as much finesse as he could manage. "It is rather unseemly, don't you think?" He arched an eyebrow in challenge to the pureblood. "Or, perhaps, would you like to include the ladies in this conversation. I'm sure Narcissa would be most appreciative a your little _private_ conquests during the time you were publicly courting her." He looked across at the blonde witch engaged in some trifling banter with Minerva. "After all, your wife isn't one to hold a grudge."

At least Lucius had the decency to blush. The aristocratic wizard tilted his glass in salute to the point scored. "Be that as it may, am I correct to assume the vows have been consummated?"

Severus couldn't resist the smirk—not that he really tried. "Thoroughly." He lifted his glass partway to his lips. "Repeatedly," he murmured. "On numerous surfaces." He drained snifter, ignoring the sputtering of the man drowning in a mixture of saliva and whisky beside him. "I hope that provides sufficient answer to you inquiry."

"Quite," Lucius coughed, mopping the front of his shirt with his handkerchief. His glare was more amused than irritated. "I suppose I did ask for that."

"Indeed." Severus took the tumbler from his friend and returned it to the silver tray beside his. "Now shall we join Kingsley and the ladies? I'm sure there is some lovely Ministry gossip we can coerce our beloved Minster to share." He thumped Lucius on the back as he ambled toward the group congregated in front of the fire. "That should put you to rights in no time."

Whether the recalcitrant wizard followed immediately or not, Severus didn't care. All that concerned him was the beautiful witch seated on the sofa with a space just his size beside her. He'd maintained a proper distance for most of the evening, but with dinner complete and the after-meal civilities wearing on him, he needed his wife. Or, given their present company, at least the nearness of her.

He slotted himself between the end of sofa and Hermione. Immediately, she moved her hand to his knee. He encased hers with his own, slipping his fingers into the gaps between hers as the conversation pulled him in.

"So there she sits," Kingsley managed between chuckles. "The great Pansy Parkinson locked in a Ministry holding cell."

"Still holding out on Mr. Weasley, then? Poor lad." The malicious glint in Minerva's eyes spoke more than the sarcastic undercurrent of her statement. Of all her cubs, Ronald Weasley was the one she would happily trade to Tom Riddle himself, if the dark wizard were not moldering behind the veil. "But why is he not incarcerated alongside his wife?"

Narcissa sniggered in an almost unladylike fashion. "According to Draco's dear Ginny, her brother is ready, willing, and able. In fact, he visits the former Miss Parkinson every day, begging her to allow the guards to let him in. It seems the way the vows chosen for them will not allow either party to seek…relief from _any_ other source." She took a sip of her tea, attempting to hide her smirk behind the rim of the cup. "I wonder who could have possibly uncovered a binding ritual with such an obscure, and painful, clause."

Lucius' laughter rang out as he settled on the arm of his wife's chair. "I've always told Draco that a Malfoy/Weasley alliance would be dangerous for the wizarding world. I just never though it would be the Malfoy matriarch and the Weasley daughter who pulled it off."

"Be that as it may," Narcissa sniffed, "it is quite an alliance. And young Ginny and Draco will provide us with absolutely ravishing grandchildren, once they finish their respective apprenticeships."

Hermione leaned forward and took a cup from the low table in front of her. She handed it to Severus, then returned for one of her own. During the whole exchanged, her hand never left her husband's knee. It sent a surge of proud possession through him. This was his witch. _His_. "Does the Ministry have any plans on how to handle the situation should Pansy persist in holding out?"

Kingsley shrugged. "Perhaps we should force her to read Shakespeare's perspective." He rose to his feet, placing one hand on his chest and raising the other like a great Elizabethan actor. "Your old virginity is like one of our French withered pears: it looks ill, it eats dryly." He retook his seat as the rest laughed heartily. "That should give her something to think about."

"Or perhaps Severus can provide young Mr. Weasley a copy of the Slytherin's Guide to Pears. I'm sure there's one or two lying around the common room."

Lucius' smug grin deserved a well-placed hex, but Hermione's grip tightened on Severus' hand stemmed his ire. It didn't, however, still his tongue. "Why send a book when the author is seated in this very room?" He arched a brow at the blond wizard. "Isn't that right, Lucius?"

Although his friend turned a lovely shade of puce, any retaliation was cut off by the deputy headmistress. "Enough about the young Weasleys' marital difficulties." Minerva settled more comfortably in her chair. "What I'd like to know is if there have been any other couples in contempt of the new law."

Kingsley shook his head. "Beyond those with the proviso, none."

"Given that Luna is three months gone, I'd say the Potters' courtship ended satisfactorily." Hermione's gaze shifted to him. Uncertainty dimmed the laughter in her eyes, but only slightly. Lifting her hand to his lips, he nodded just once. She beamed at him then turned her attention back to the group. "And since Severus and I are only a month behind them—"

The headmaster's quarters erupted into mini-chaos. Minerva and Narcissa were fighting to hug the stuffings out of his bride while Kingsley and Lucius' hearty congratulatory thumps to his back threatened to catapult him into the fire. Then, as though someone sounded a bell, the group switched partners. Although the men were much more gentle with the mother-to-be than they had been with the father, the ladies seemed intent on inflicting bodily harm to his person as they had to hers. Still, Severus couldn't keep the smile from his face.

"So," Minerva crowed. "Seems as if my advice was heeded."

Trying to remain stern and aloof, Severus knew he failed the minute his friend and colleague laughed hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. "'Tis all right, lad." She patted his arm, her smile warm and motherly. "As long as you both are happy."

Glancing at his wife as Lucius and Kingsley insisted on helping her into a chair, he was greeted by her shining amber eyes and incandescent smile. And his very soul tingled with joy at the sight. "Indeed we are, Minerva." He looked back at the woman who claimed him as a son long before the rest of the world claimed him as human and offered a cheeky grin. "No guide to pears needed."


End file.
